Arctic Fire

Начало книги

Troy Jensen was a daredevil. He always had been. It seemed as if nothing of this earth could stop him.

“You want me to go in there?” he asked in flawless Spanish. He was fluent in Russian and several Chinese dialects as well. He pointed tentatively at the fence, doing his best to convince the two older men he was scared. It was more fun that way. “Through that gate?”

The grizzled Mexicans exchanged crazy smiles.

“Sí,” one of them answered, trying to hide his guilty, nearly toothless grin. He was worried the young American might see it and then see the light. He gestured excitedly at the gate to distract Troy. “Sí, sí. Vámonos.”

“Take you with this thing,” the other man offered in broken English, doing a better job of masking his own dentally challenged grin than his brother as he held out a rusty, bloodstained sword. This man still had most of his teeth, but they were crooked and yellow. “You will need it.”

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